The Man of Steal

Danger: Diabolik (Mario Bava, 1968)

Until recently, I had deliberately delayed reviewing Mario Bava’s deliriously, mad cap film Danger: Diabolik (1968) due to not having read any of the comics it was adapted from. The master thief known as Diabolik was created by Italian sisters Angela and Luciana Giussani in 1962. He was more of an anti-hero/villain, given his motivations and actions. From my understanding, the ingenious thief, with a maniacal laugh, would not hesitate to murder any innocent bystander who stood in his way. Hence, the book is allegedly more subversive than traditional comics of that era. Diabolik’s popularity spawned a whole sub-genre of Italian comics known as fumetti neri (dark comics) and gave rise to other notorious characters: Kriminal, Satanik and Sadik; some of which had their own film adaptations.

I found it challenging to locate an English translation of Diabolik . As an alternative, I decided to watch the recent trilogy of films directed by the Manetti Brothers: Diabolik (2021); Diabolik: Ginko Attacks! (2022) and Diabolik: Who Are You? (2024). Fans of the comic consider the trilogy to be more faithful to the source material compared to Bava’s film. After binge-watching all three films, I shan’t bother with the comic books. They are drab, dire and completely lifeless. The complete opposite of Bava's adaptation. All three of them are diabolically bad (I thought I was being clever here, but I'll probably regret typing that sentence whenever I reread this review). Therefore, I can confidently conclude Danger: Diabolik is the superior version; regardless of its deviation from the comic.

Danger: Diabolik is pure bork overload. A visually striking Italian-French co-production, characterised by Bava’s vibrant colour palette and camera wizardry; grandiose and opulent set designs; recognisable European actors in camp mode; and Il Maestro of film composers, Ennio Morricone, creating a distinctive blend of his trademark spaghetti western sounds, ecclesiastical organs, jazzy pop and lounge lizard muzak, furthering the psychedelic experience. The result is a demented Pop-Art film that easily sits between the early James Bond films and the kitsch Batman television series.

The film’s production history was fraught with difficulties. The Nanny’s Seth Holt was the original director when filming commenced in 1965; with Jean Sorel being cast as the titular character. Producer Dino De Laurentiis was dissatisfied with the dailies and production was brought to a halt until Mario Bava was hired to restart the film on a significantly reduced budget. Sorel was out by this time. Having already been familiar with the comic, John Phillip Law secured the lead after impressing De Laurentiis with his dastardly eyebrow expressions; a skill essential when having to wear a latex balaclava while racing around in a speedboat or a sport scar. Bava was unhappy with Catherine Deneuve as Eva Kent, Diabolik's beautiful girlfriend and partner in crime. The Austrian bombshell Marisa Mell was subsequently cast in her place. This proved to be a successful casting decision as Law and Mell exhibited great onscreen chemistry and contributed to the racy scenes in the film.

In terms of the film’s plot, Diabolik’s ingenious and daring heists have driven the nameless European country’s Minister of Interior, played by the gap-toothed, British toff Terry-Thomas, to extreme measures: by enforcing the death penalty on all criminals. His arch-nemesis, Inspector Ginko (Michel Piccoli), is counting on the crime syndicate, led by Ralph Valmont (Adolfo Celi, virtually reprising his villainous role as Emilio Largo from the 1965 James Bond film Thunderball) to rid them of the master thief. Following the kidnapping of his beloved Eva and a free-falling confrontation with Valmont, Diabolik steals the world’s largest gold ingot. Unaware that traces of the ingot were irradiated under Ginko’s orders, thus the objects serves as a homing device. This leads to the law's discovery of Diabolik’s secret lair and the film’s climactic finale.

Bava’s film presents an intriguing dynamic by positioning Diabolik against both law enforcement and the criminal underworld; forcing the master thief into an anti-hero. This is evident when he unleashes a bombing campaign against the state’s tax department after learning of their enforcement of the death penalty. By not permitting Diabolik to steal, he will reciprocate by preventing the government from doing the same. His anti-establishment and individualistic nature comes across as subversive and ahead of its time for a 1960s comic book character.

Danger: Diabolik is an exceptional visual experience for those who appreciate wonderfully eccentric and vibrant cinema. Mario Bava was a masterful filmmaker; renowned for his exquisite cinematic eye, autistic levels of detail to the mise-en-scène and ingenious visual effects. Bava demonstrated his ability to create a wonderfully whimsical and trippy comic book movie with the same care and attention to the sumptuous, atmospheric, gothic Italian horror he became renowned for. A very versatile and capable director, who was unjustly lumped as a poor man's Alfred Hitchcock.

The elaborate sets provide an exceptional playground that are a huge part to the film’s charm. The most notable is Diabolik’s underground lair. An eye-catching, post-modernist structure built within a vast cavern. It’s spectacular enough to rival some of Ernst Stavro Blofeld’s residences. The home is furnished with modern conveniences including his and hers groovy showers and a giant, rotating circular bed (you won’t find one of them in Dreams) where they make passionate love all day amongst all their stolen cash. Not exactly hygienic, but a lifestyle I can respect. The lair is surrounded by a fleet of Jaguar E-Types; the protagonist’s trademark wheels. With a subterranean entrance to the sea, Diabolik’s hideout comes complete with its own submarine. A convenient transport for moving a giant gold ingot. Above all, I’m particularly fond of the giant pipe organ which serves as the lair’s security alarm. A unique, yet very fitting device for any supervillain.

Sources suggest the reason a sequel was never made was that Bava did not enjoy his experience working with De Laurentiis. Alternatively, the film’s commercial failure is a more plausible explanation. If Danger: Diabolik had been successful, a sequel would have been produced even without Bava’s involvement. Regardless of which is true, it is now considered a cult film and often listed amongst the best comic book movies by various media. 

Danger: Diabolik did not leave the same first impression on me as Bava's gothic horror films initially did. The film has greatly grown on me with subsequent revisits. I think it might have been Diabolik’s quintessential European stylings and campiness being not to my taste during my edge lord youth. This was a time when Batman had long abandoned the campiness of the ‘60s television series and embraced the dark and gothic sensibilities as reflected by Tim Burton’s 1989 Batman film. Since then, however, I have found Danger: Diabolik deeply refreshing in comparison to the irreverent deconstruction and revisionism committed to familiar comics book characters today. They are trends that have become increasingly tiresome and clichéd for me. Hence, a fictional character who steals for the adrenaline rush and to support his lavish lifestyle with his sexy girlfriend, is both beautifully simplistic and far more appealing to me than the latest Marvel and DC slop.

One of Mario Bava’s greatest films.

Eureka has recently released a superb 4K UHD of Danger: Diabolik as part of its Masters of Cinema series. This is perhaps my favourite boutique film release of the year. Alternatively, I would highly recommend that those who have not seen the film to check it out for free on YouTube. Deep, deep down, you know you want to!

The Painter of Agony

The House with Laughing Windows (Pupi Avati, 1976)

Contrary to the belief of some giallo film experts, the genre’s golden era had long passed by the time Dario Argento released his seminal film Deep Red (1975). There was no revival of the giallo genre as his classic debut The Bird with the Crystal Plumage (1971) had achieved. Similarly, when the director returned to the gialli after several years with his masterpiece Tenebrae (1982), that also failed to reignite the genre as it had mostly been absorbed across the Atlantic with the slasher film. In your humble host’s opinion, the quality of these films produced between this period was a nadir for the giallo. Gone were the jet-set locations, the glamorous women and the stylish ‘70s fashions. 

These were succeeded by some of the genre’s most notorious and poorly made films. Examples include The Bloodsucker Leads the Dance (1975), The Sister of Ursula (1978) and the infamous Giallo in Venice (1979). They exemplified the sleaze and ineptitude that became the norm. However, there were notable exceptions. The House with the Laughing Windows (1976), directed by the unfortunately named Pupi Avati, is perhaps the greatest standout and one of the best gialli produced since its heyday.

Art restorer Stefano (Lino Capolicchio) is commissioned by Solmi (Bob Tonelli), the diminutive mayor of a provincial village, to repair and complete an unfinished church fresco. The artwork was commissioned by the long-serving parish priest Don Orsi (Eugene Walter) to depict the Martyrdom of St Sebastian. Buono Legnani (Tonino Corazzari), a revered and eccentric local artist would be the person appointed the task of painting the fresco. Unfortunately, the painter had mysteriously passed away before completing it. Mayor Solmi believes the completion and restoration of it will bring much-needed tourism to the area and help boost its economy. Upon seeing the fresco, Stefan becomes instantly obsessed with it and its creator described as "the painter of agony". He begins working immediately,

The village has endured significant hardship since World War II. Its lagoon remains polluted decades after the conflict. Don Orsi’s church was also severely affected. It was converted into a SS barracks during the war and subsequently used as a makeshift morgue. The trauma of war continues to have a profound impact on the community. The village appears to be frozen in time, with few motor vehicles and residents wearing vintage clothing. Above all, they are fearful of the past.

Upon checking into the local hotel, Stefano receives a threatening phone call instructing him to abandon his work on the fresco and leave the village. He dismisses the threat as a prank. He is enjoying the advances of the local schoolteacher, who also happens to be the village bike.  Stefano briefly meets Antonio Mazza (Giulio Pizzirani), an old friend who has also relocated to the village and is assisting with the lagoon’s clean-up. Mazza had recommended Stefano to Mayor Solmi to restore the church fresco. However, he now regrets bringing his friend to the village after learning more about Legnani’s depraved past and horrific inspirations in creating his paintings. With prying eyes and eavesdroppers, it is difficult for Mazza to disclose everything he can to his friend.

After being invited to restaurant owner Poppi’s (Andrea Matteuzzi) house, Stefano sees an entire room’s worth of Legnani’s paintings. This only makes the our protagonist even more fascinated by the insane artist’s life. While there, Mazza calls Stefano urging him to come and see him. He wants to tell Stefano everything. Outside Mazza’s apartment, Stefano witnesses his friend fall to his death. A silhouetted figure can be seen from Mazza’s room.

Stefano’s hotel concierge overhears the latest prank call to him and becomes alarmed. She fabricates a story about needing Stefano’s room for another guest. Fortunately, Don Orsi has arranged accommodation for the young man in a large villa owned by an elderly paraplegic woman who lives alone. It is rumoured she was made an invalid from a venereal disease. Don Orsi’s mouse-eating assistant Lidio (Pietro Brambilla) guides Stefano to the villa. Laura (Pina Borione), the lonely woman, is delighted to have another person in her home. In the attic of the villa, Stefano discovers an old tape recorder. The tape plays Legnani’s insane ramblings which are heard over the sepia-toned opening sequence of the film, where an unnamed man is hung by his arms and brutally stabbed multiple times. 

"The colours, my colours, flow in my veins. They are sweet, my colours, sweet as Autumn, hot as blood, pure as syphilis, and enter into the eyes, infecting all." — Buono Legnani.

Evidently, Stefano seems to have gotten over Mazza’s death (murder?) and seems unfazed from the disturbing tape recording relatively quickly, as he’s already making a late night booty call with the school teacher. To his surprise, the beautiful young brunette woman, who he briefly met on the ferry when he first arrived at the village, opens the front door. Francesca (Francesca Marciano) tells the randy art restorer that the school teacher he came to visit had been transferred, and that she is her replacement, Not sure which is more troubling about Francesca: her inviting a horny stranger into her home in the late hours, or her having a refrigerator filled with snails crawling about in it. She even asks Stefano if he knows how to cook them. The newcomers develop a romantic relationship. Out with the old; in with the new.

This is an appropriate point to conclude the plot of the film without delving into spoilers. While The House with Laughing Windows is half a century old, it’s still an overlooked film; and therefore, a new discovery for many. Its cult status has begun growing in recent years, however. Not only ought it be considered amongst the best gialli ever produced, but it merits the attention of serious cinephiles as an important film in '70s Italian cinema. Therefore, Don Orsi would concur, spoilers would indeed be a cardinal sin.

Pupi Avati’s thriller may adhere to some conventions of the giallo genre, but it also shares significant similarities with the folk-horror sub-genre; specifically Robin Hardy’s British horror classic The Wicker Man (1973). For instance, Capolicchio’s character Stefano falls into a similar spiralling trap as Woodward’s Sergeant Howie as a stranger in a strange land. Both films featuring an isolated community populated by eccentric individuals is another shared characteristic. There is also the daylight horror aspect to both; which are achieved rather masterfully.

The palpable sense of dread in The House with Laughing Windows is undoubtedly its greatest strength. This is achieved through Avati’s increasingly unnerving plot juxtaposed with our protagonists becoming increasingly frightened along the way. The atmosphere becomes electric. Amedeo Tommassi’s haunting piano score further enhances the fear factor; particularly during the third act where events become increasingly sinister. 

The term ‘slow-burn’ may have negative connotations when describing the pacing of films today, but The House with Laughing Windows justifiably earns this description as Avati’s atmosphere wouldn’t have been close to effective if it had breezed through all the chilling plot revelations and genuinely tense scenes for the Ritalin poppin' film fan.

Overall, The House with Laughing Windows has consistently been one of the giallo genre’s most unsung films. This may have been due to the absence of an English dub and accurately translated subtitles in the past. Thankfully, that’s no longer an issue today..

The House with Laughing Windows is now available in 4K UHD (and no longer another wish list item) in the US via Arrow Video and is also available in the same format via Shameless Films in the UK.

Highly recommended for anyone with an interest in giallo, folk-horror and macabre mystery. 

EDIT: Bizzarely, while editing the format of the text, my original review got deleted and blogger auto-saved. Muggins didn't have a back-up. Lesson learned: Never use Blogger as your main format to write anything! Had to rewrite everything I could remember again. 

A Stan Is Born

Lurker (Alex Russell, 2025)

One of my favourite books is John Ronson’s The Psychopath Test. An absorbing read that provides collective examples of psychopathy within human society; including cases amongst corporate and governmental sectors. A defining constant in all the cases noted, is the lack of genuine empathy a psychopath exhibits; an obvious sign in identifying a wolf in sheep's clothing. (The smartest ones attempt to feign it, however.) Writer and director Alex Russell’s debut feature Lurker (2025), a film dealing with celebrity obsession and the infiltration of the sycophantic inner circle of an emergent pop musician, automatically brought me back to Ronson's book.

Lurker follows Matt Morning (Théodore Pellerin), a young retail clerk at a Los Angeles clothing store frequented by local celebrities. A chance encounter occurs when Oliver (Archie Madekwe), a British singer, visits and is impressed by Matt’s choice of song playing in the shop. The two strike up a friendship which leads to Matt being invited to the singer’s concert and spending time backstage with him. It is not long before Matt is doing menial chores for Oliver in his Los Angeles apartment; including catering to the singer’s sceptical entourage. Thus Russell’s drama follows Matt’s social ascent through the ranks of Oliver’s inner circle and becoming something of a celebrity himself.

In one instance, Oliver is filming a sheep for his latest music video. Noah (Daniel Zolghadri), the videographer has run out of battery power for his camera despite being certain he had packed an extra battery pack. Matt conveniently has his own camcorder and offers advice on how to shoot it and integrate it with the existing footage. This was clearly intentional sabotage by Matt, but proved beneficial for the protagonist as it elevated his social standing within Oliver’s hierarchy.

The music video itself serves as a direct metaphor between celebrity and fandom. Matt’s camcorder is mounted on the sheep which provides its perspective of Oliver; effectively satirising fans as herdlike suckers. A fitting comparison given the deification of celebrities in the modern era.

However, Jamie (Sunny Suljic), a work colleague from the clothing store, disrupts the social climb. He asks Matt if can attend one of Oliver’s parties and subsequently gains entry to the star’s circle. Jealousy arises when Jamie receives more attention than Matt. During a London concert tour, Matt’s psychopathy becomes more than evident when he injures Jamie during a photo shoot. Consequently, he is expelled from Oliver’s circle and returns to L.A. To regain his position, Matt resorts to unethical methods, including providing backstage passes and spiking the drinks of two underage girls. The after-party being unknowingly recorded with cameras installed in Oliver’s house. This situation creates a blackmail scenario where Matt exerts control over the pop star.

The power shift in the film’s final act occasionally approaches psychological thriller territory, producing genuinely tense scenes. A notable example is the scene in which Oliver enters Matt’s room to retrieve the incriminating footage on a SSD. This sequence exemplifies the strained nature of their relationship being taken to an extreme with an unexpected and awkward homoerotic wrestling scene. WTF?

A low-fi narrative exploring themes of cliques, loneliness and parasocial relationships, Lurker examines the lengths an obsessive individual would go to find a sense of belonging. While the film is not new territory, as evidenced by the 2023 film Saltburn (also featuring Archie Madekwe) which explored similar themes in the context of class, Alex Russell’s work is more nuanced and less exaggerated than Emerald Fennell’s. In contrast, Lurker is more grounded in reality and makes a parasitic individual like Matt more believable as a character existing in our world. Additionally, Matt Morning makes for a good fit as the manipulative little brother of the ghoulish Louis Bloom.

The lyrics in Oliver’s latest music video provide a contrasting perspective, illustrating the chilling conclusion that love and obsession are synonymous for the celebrity who craves adulation. This creates an unhealthy symbiotic relationship between star and fans. Consequently, much like the film’s many awkward scenes, the message lingers long after the credits roll.

Perhaps the most intentionally cringeworthy film released this year; a noteworthy achievement given Nicolas Cage’s hell in The Surfer. More significantly, it marks an impressive feature debut for writer and director Alex Russell. Primarily targeted at Gen Z with crossover appeal, Lurker is a worthy standout this year.

What an Excellent Day for an Iconoclasm

The Demon (Brunello Rondi, 1963)

Alarm bells tend to ring for me whenever a film is labelled as neorealism. There's nothing remotely real about them for me. Hence, going into Brunello Rondi's The Demon (AKA Il Demonio, 1963) came with a degree of hesitation. Thankfully, the frequent Federico Fellini (AKA Tinto Brass without all the smut) collaborator managed to bypass my defences with a compelling and virtual documentary like film set in the peasant confines of Lucania, Southern Italy. The Demon distinguishes itself from the cut and paste Bava-esque gothic horrors from this era by drawing a series of damning parallels between peasant superstitions to that of the Catholic church. The film would subsequently be banned by the Italian censors. A huge shame, as it's an excellent film from the Italian horror canon of the 1960s.

Allegedly based on a "recent, tragic true story" The Demon tells the tale of Purificazione (Daliah Lahvi), Purif for short, a beautiful peasant woman who is driven to madness and obsession after being given the push from her lover Antonio (Frank Wolff). Antonio is something of a player, as he's been seeing Purif on the side whilst engaged to another woman (a monumental downgrade in the looks department). The rejected woman's behaviour results with her becoming increasingly ostracised by both her superstitious family and Lucania's townsfolk. One example has her throwing a dead cat outside Antonio's home, making everyone think she is might be a witch or possibly possessed by the Devil. 

What's engrossing about The Demon is witnessing how the bizarre and superstitious customs of the townspeople are being equally as disturbing as Purif's actions. Before even getting to consecrate their marriage, Antonio and his bride are made to wait outside their bedroom while the elders prepare the room. A scythe is placed under the newly wed's bed ("to cut Death's legs."), while dried raisins are scattered in the form of a cross over the sheets to absorb any evil. Another scene involves Purif and other folk carrying heavy rocks to the town centre to metaphorically unload their sins. Each individual confessing their sin; from stealing a chicken, to having incestuous desires with their children. What a messed up town.

With such a restrictive and highly superstitious belief system, this makes Purif a sympathetic character in The Demon to a degree, as she is constantly treated cruelly by others for being perceived as evil. This is strikingly similar to Florinda Balkon's tragic witch lady from Lucio Fulci's Don't Torture a Duckling (1972). At one point, Purif is accused of straying the soul of a sick boy from drinking water leading to his death. She is beaten by her father. In another instance she is hog-tied and raped by a shepherd. A revered, local shaman is equally as bad as he sexually assaults her while masquerading in attempting to rid her demonic possession. These terrible events culminate to an unforgettable scene where Purif is desperately given the exorcism treatment by a Catholic priest in a church. Lavi's dancing experience pays off, as she spider walks for what is perhaps the most disturbing point in the film. Possibly inspiring the infamous deleted scene from William Friedkin's horror masterpiece in The Exorcist (1973).

Daliah Lavi's exotic looks and powerhouse performance are an irrevocable eye opener. Her role in Mario Bava's beautifully gothic and supernatural S&M The Whip and the Body (1963) was a real standout amongst her obviously-there-as-eye-candy roles elsewhere. Numerous camp '60s films such as James Bond cash-in O.G. Casino Royale (1967) and James Bond clone Some Girls Do (1969) are perfect examples of her talents being wasted, in all honesty. The Israeli soldier turned actress was essentially seen as the Gal Gadot of her era, sadly. In The Demon, however, she at least flexes some real acting prowess, fortunately. Lavi is mesmerising in her role. According to the late actress, this was her favourite role in her film career and understandably so.

Other than Daliah Lavi, American actor, Frank Wolff is the only other actor with the most screen time, as he is both the catalyst and antagonist in the film. Considering how insane Purif is, to the point that the townsfolk believe she is possessed, it's hard to be sympathetic to his character whilst he is taking advantage of her during her worsening state. Wolff appeared in countless Italian films; particularly spaghetti westerns. Perhaps his most recognisable role is his moustachioed Brett McBain, in a harrowing scene where he and his family are massacred by Henry Fonda's gang in Sergio Leone's all-time classic Once Upon a Time in the West (1968). Personally, I'm even more traumatised from the scene where he's turned on by Nieves Navarro seductively eating grilled fish in Luciano Ercoli's giallo Death Walks on High Heels (1971). (I'm totally aware the grammar of that film title is wrong. Blame the film makers!)

Carlo Bellero's lush black and white cinematography in The Demon manages to capture the ambience of Italian gothic horror while his documentary style footage of various religious traditions and customs appear like they're lifted from a vintage mondo film. That would explain why this formerly obscure Italian folk horror is sometimes tagged as neorealism, in some respect. A far more successful blending of two filmic treatments in comparison to Luigi Bazzoni and Franco Rossellini's convoluted, rustic giallo The Possessed (1965), which is obviously inspired by the look of Michelangelo Antonioni's films.

Didn't have any major gripes with The Demon, but I did find the whole convent scene before the climax of the film a tad trivial. Purif's previous run-ins with the clergy were effectively realised prior, so her brief time with the fearful nuns felt like unnecessary padding. Still, Purif's run-in with the nuns does result in some breathtaking scenery outside of the convent. The scene where Purif walks through a barb wire fence around a sacred tree being obviously symbolic.

As a staunch defender of exploitation films in general, it's somewhat disappointing Rondi went that direction. Any director who delivers a thought-provoking, subversive and beautifully crafted film like The Demon and to later helm sexploitation films like Sex Life in a Women's Prison (1974) and Black Emanuelle, White Emanuelle (1976) kind of missed their chance at being a world class director, to be honest.

Another gem from Severin's legendary All the Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium of Folk Horror Vol. 1; a box set that's still too expensive for me. However, I have managed to cover some great films from the collection which I eventually discovered down the line: Alison's Birthday (1981) Eyes of Fire (1983) and Celia (1989). The Demon is objectively the best film I've watched so far, which makes the set even more desirable than before. It's also another fine example why physical media is so important, since The Demon is rescued from relative obscurity and readily available for today's film aficionados with a penchant for world cinema and folk horror.

Of Death, of Love

Dellamorte Dellamore (Michele Soavi, 1994)

Largely considered as the last great Italian Horror by film critics and genre enthusiasts, Michele Soavi's darkly comic Dellamorte Delllamore (AKA Cemetery Man, 1994), is both a surreal and unconventional offering bound to frustrate and confuse anyone mistaken into thinking this would be another gory, flesh eating, Italian zombie flick in the vein of Zombi 2 (1979) or Burial Ground: The Nights of Terror (1981). While commonly described as an existential zombie film, it's only partially accurate, as the zombies, or "returners" as called by the film's protagonist, are only prominent in the first half of the film. The remainder is a descent into madness, where the living are the bigger focus of the story. Culminating with an ambiguous ending, that's open to all sorts of interpretation.

Gianni Romni's screenplay is an adaptation of the novel of the same name, penned by author and comic book writer Tiziano Sclavi. The book was a prequel to Dylan Dog, a cult Italian comic storied around an English, paranormal investigator. Artist and co-creator, Angelo Stano based his on the titular character on the English thespian Rupert Everett, after seeing him in the drama Another Country (1984). Flattered by the use of his image and the general premise of Dellamorte Dellamore, Everett's eagerness and involvement in the film's pre-production came very early on.

On the outskirts of Buffalora, a rustic town in northern Italy, the chronically depressed Francesco Dellamorte is the caretaker of the nearby cemetery, which is besieged with the select undead who rise from their graves seven days after their burial. The thirty-something protagonist, who has more in common with an emo teenager, is accompanied by an almost mute (the only thing he utters is, "Gna!" and in typical Lassie fashion, its meaning is understood by Dellamorte), spherically-shaped manchild known as Gnaghi (François Hadji-Lazaro). Together, they deal with the returners like a humorous odd couple burdened with the most mundane of tasks. Interestingly, Dellamorte is a bit of a pretentious prat with his depressed poetic drivel and confessing to only reading the telephone book. His cellar dwelling companion, however, likes nothing more than consuming plates of spaghetti with bread and watching war footage on his beloved TV.

Their dynamic changes with the introductions of She (the stone cold, Finnish Italian fox Anna Falchi). The buxom bombshell plays three different, but identical looking women (technically four if you count her returner form). The first is a beautiful, young widow with a penchant for the ossuary. The second is the second mayor's secretary with a fear of male genitalia. The final version of She is a college student who turns out to be a prostitute. All three of these incarnations have a profound effect on Francesco Dellamorte's mental state. Ultimately, turning him into a man who no longer kills the dead, but the living. As shown when the Grim Reaper appears and tells Dellamorte, "Stop killing the dead. They're mine. If you don't want the dead coming back to life, why don't you just kill the living, shoot them in the head? Are you listening to me?" Indeed he does, as he eventually drives into town and goes on a killing spree; shooting the local youths who mocked him for supposedly being impotent.

Structurally, Dellamorte Dellamore is top heavy (not a pun on Falchi's fantastic topless scenes*) as the first incarnation of She consumes the first hour of the film. The other versions of the alluring femme and their impact in the film, run far shorter. They're all pivotal, however, as they're key triggers to the decline of Dellamorte's deteriorating mental state. There is of course Gnagi's sideplot, where he falls for the career obsessed mayor's daughter. Dead or alive; she's still only fourteen years old, regardless of Gnagi believing he is also a child. Back on topic, the film does manage to work really well, despite its absurdity. It's largely due to its uniqueness and its surreal, dreamlike quality; everything feels and behaves so out-of-wack, that any flaw might come across as intentional by Michele Soavi. A notable reason why Dellamorte Dellamore is given the clichéd description as being Lynchian. Although, Italain horror has always had its own eccentricities and general weirdness well before the term was ever coined.

In terms of the film's visual style, it's a veritable mix of vintage Sam Raimi and early Peter Jackson; particularly many of the nocturnal graveyard scenes. Mauro Marchetti's stunning cinematography easily elevates the film above most other '90s horror films, let alone the barely functioning Italian horror industry at the time. Soavi, a fan of classic fine art and recreating them in his films, creates a homage to one during the ossuary scene, where Dellamorte has his head wrapped in a scarf, passionately kissing a veiled She; an obvious reference to Rene Magritte's The Lovers II. Other films also get the referential treatmentl  the most blatant being the snow globe from Orson Welles's Citizen Kane (1941). A totally obscure one, is Dellamorte constantly mistaken for an engineer; a reference to David Hemming's character in Dario Argento's Deep Red (1975). Of course, Soavi was no stranger to referencing grand pieces of art with his directorial debut, the Euro-slasher Stagefright (1987); a classic horror in its own right.

Perhaps the film's greatest achievement is Rupert Everett being in it, playing it thoroughly emo, yet defying the odds and being the superb lead. Easily his best film. Witnessing him shoot dumdum bullets into the undead while acting thoroughly morose is how I would imagine Ash J. William would be if he was a poncey English bloke. Everett is also the common element that keeps the film flowing and compelling, regardless of its incoherent plot. He bridges all the on-screen insanity from one scene to the next, from his comedic scenes with Hadji-Lazaro's Gnagi, to his doomed romances with Falchi's multiples of She; it's thoroughly entertaining.

Bottom line - Dellamorte Dellamore is a classic, yet sadly perfect swan song as the last great Italian horror. It's also tragic Soavi never helmed any other theatrical films afterwards and retreated into TV work, as he stepped out of the shadow of being Dario Argento's protégé and proved to possess his own unique style and talent. The Italian film industry was in dire straits at the time, and all the great directors were well past their primes, which makes Soavi an important name in the canon of Italian horror for being responsible for its last great entry.

*Can't link any of the multiple screenshots I took of Anna Falchi's topless scenes as Imgur deleted them. The philistines.

In-A-Grigio-Da-Vida

The 'Swinging Sixties' might have brought to the world free love and hairy hippies, but it was also responsible for some ridiculously long songs like The Chamber Brothers' The Time Has Come Today and The Doors' hilariously named The End. Iron Butterly's seventeen minute black mass opus In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida is a prime example of a song desperately needing an editor like a Christopher Nolan movie, as it's particularly ruined by a singer who fancies himself as some kind of demonic hippie and a tuneless improv session with an organ and a screeching guitar dominating much of the song. 

Much like the medium of film, for anything that's a hit, there's the Italian rip-off. Therefore, I'm thankful there's a version which addresses my issues with the original by ditching the creepy pub singing and impromptu tune testing and opting for a short and swift, funkier instrumental instead. Originally appearing in Massimo Dallamano's film adaptation of Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Grey, Peppino De Luca's (bootleg) soundalike of In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida is a much more tolerable version of the song. It doesn't require the aid of Francis Dolarhyde shooting cops in Manhunter (1986), Bart Simpson replacing the hymn sheet, or Nas to rap over it just to maintain my interest like the original.

Peppino De Luca (AKA Giuseppe De Luca) - Rito a Los Angeles (3° Version)

Dorian Grey OST, 1970

 

It's too bad this bootleg version ended up being used for a scene in the all-star ridden, heist comedy Ocean Twelve (2004) as it inevitably brought about a bunch of internet know-it-alls in the comments section claiming it was produced by David Holmes, Michael Viner's Incredible Bongo Band and of course Iron Butterfly.

Lost in Reincarnation

Black Magic Rites (Renato Polselli, 1973)

Many moons ago, I foolishly bought a Danish DVD of Renato Polselli's follow-up to his ultra sleazy giallo Delirum (1972) without realising there weren't any English subtitles for it. Black Magic Rites (1973), AKA The Reincarnation of Isabel, was way more obscure back then, and your host was desperate to check it out on account of its reputation of being completely insane. With complete naivety, I figured I could at least cobble together a semblance of the film's plot according to the actions on screen. No chance! Gave up very early into the film as I didn't have a clue what the hell was going on. Fast forward to the present day and Indicator Films has released a very lavish 4K UHD of the film; more importanly it has English subtitles! Turns out the film gods struck their cruel blow upon me once more as Black Magic Rites is still an incomprehensible film even with the subtitles.

I wasn't alone in finding Black Magic Rites a confusing experience, both critics, David Flint and Kim Newman, were equally perplexed by it when I rewatched it with their commentary. It became all the more amusing with them trying to keep their professional composure during the film's excessive moments of unbridled sleaze and gory sacrificial goings on. Stephen Thrower, AKA Jess Franco's #1 Stan, who can talk a good one regarding the Spanish pervy midget's softcore Eurotrash films being neglected cinematic masterpieces, was equally as befuddled with Polselli's opus as the rest of us. What is an absolute certainty, is the unified acknowlegment that Black Magic Rites is a thoroughly entertaining psychedelic acid trip for die hard fans of Italian exploitation cinema.

I wonder if Peter Strickland's fictional movie The Equestrian Vortex from Berberian Sound Studio (2012) was inspired by Black Magic Rites.

As far as the main plot goes, Black Magic Rites appears to revolve around a collective of vampires performing Satanic sacrifices to resurrect a buxom witch and Dracula's beloved known as Isobel (Rita Calderoni). With the aid of choppy editing, the viewer is repeatedly transported from the fourteenth century to the modern day (the 1970s, in this case), to the point you're flummoxed with what time period certain scenes are set. Equally confusing are the cast (many from Delirium) appearing in both eras as reincarnated descendents of the angry mob who witness Isobel's burning at the stake. Extremely out there seventies clothes and hairstyles also muddy the waters as you're still left wondering if the scene you're watching is set in the Middle Ages or the decade that taste forgot.

Despite all these bewildering factors, Black Magic Rites is a deeply alluring oddity for anyone vested in Italian horror: on the one hand it starts off as a retread of Mario Bava's The Mask of Satan (1960), AKA Black Sunday; while on the other, it's a hallucinogenic departure form any sense of normality. You're never really sure whether the red body stocking clad vampires are performing their sacrificial rituals in a dungeon below the film's gorgeous castle - the same one from Massimo Pupillo's Bloody Pit of Horror (1965) - or in some kind of dimensional limbo. They're my favourite scenes from the film; gruesome as they are, they look gorgeous thanks to their technicolour lighting and jet black backgrounds; bizarrely reminding me of a school disco. Stylistically, the film evokes the ethereal and erotica vibes found in Jean Rollin's works, and also the influence of celebrity Satanist Anton LaVey. Coincidentally, LaVey used to mingle with the actress Jane Mansfield, who was once married to the film's male lead Mickey Hargitay.

Italian horror tends to be perceived as part of the wild and wacky side of horror cinema, and in Black Magic Rites' case it's more than undeniable. I've seen more than my fair share of utterly batshit Italian horror and Polselli's film has to be one of the more out there offerings. Much of it is inexplicable, e.g. why does one of the characters have a hilarious facial twitch? Even the film's dialogue, which was also written by Polselli, is abstract; lines like, "Vampires need blood that's not contaminated by human semen" doesn't make a shred of sense. The only real restraint is Gianfranco Reverberi's melodic, yet tame score. Imagine if the ritual scenes had a similar dark hippie vibe like what Bruno Nicolai delivered for the cultist scenes from Sergio Martino's All the Colours of the Dark (1972).

It's not often when a genre film I can barely understand wins me over this way. Most tend to fail and come off as pretentious art house in sheep's clothing. Black Magic Rites is a phantasmagoric and captivating entry in genuine Italian horror canon, which explains why it's so appealing despite its incoherentness.

Bongos and Black Lace

Blood and Black Lace (Opening Credits)

Mario Bava, 1964

 

Like many Italian directors, Mario Bava dabbled in a multitude of different film genres throughout his career. His most celebrated works often fell under the horror umbrella, such as the gothic classics Black Sunday (1960) and Black Sabbath (1963). He also defined another genre; the giallo.

Blood and Black Lace (1964) might not have been Bava's first attempt at the giallo, but it laid a lot of the blueprint we would expect from the genre: from the graphic (and sometimes erotocised) deaths of beautiful, young women; to the opulent and lavish settings and locations; and the often imitated masked trenchcoat killer - Bava would turn the genre into an inspirational slayground to up and comers like Dario Argento, Sergio Martino, and Lucio Fulci.

You need only witness the opening credits from Blood and Black Lace to be convinced he was a master at his craft. Set in an elite fashion house, the sequence features its statuesque looking cast, situated with colourful flora (bouquets or wreaths) and eerie looking mannequins (which both reflects their superficiality and the forshadowing of their lifeless state), setting the tone for Bava's sardonically macabre tale. This is all complimented with his typical visual splendour; while composer Carlo Rustichelli's downtempo, cabaret-style score has an air of potential doom about it, quelling any potential doubts.

The rest of the film masterfully lives up to those opening credits, to the point where I consider it amongst the greatest in the genre.

Blood and Black Lace (Nicole's Murder Scene)

Mario Bava, 1964 

Tanz Macabre

Suspiria (Olga's Dance scene)

(Luca Guadagino, 2018)

There's a special place in Hell reserved for anyone who prefers Luca Guadagino's washed out remake of Suspiria over Dario Argento's 1977 colourful original. In a perfect world all those involved in the remake's production ought to have been ridiculed and flogged for this blasphemy. I mean, who's idea was it to have Tilda Swinton play three roles; including as an old codger, or replace Goblin's iconic score with a thoroughly depressed Thom Yorke on the piano? To add insult to injury, make the film run about an hour longer than the original.

On a positive tip, Guadagino's film does have one redeeming scene about it which stops me from throwing a complete wobbly like Madame Blanc. That scene is when Dakota Johnson's Susie Bannion does her performative dance while inflicting her witch powers upon poor old Olga; leaving her like a broken ragdoll. Perhaps the most disturbing scene and the only real notable highlight from this celluloid travesty.

Suspira (Olga's "Snakes!" scene)

(Dario Argento, 1977)

Since I'm posting about Suspiria, albeit if it's only about the one redeeming feature from the remake, can we at least show some love for the O.G Olga, played by Barbara Magnolfi from the ultra sleazefest giallo, The Sister of Ursula (1978)? Argento originally wanted children as his Tanz Dance students, but, incredibly, even the Italians back then thought it was unwise to feature kids as victims in his technicolour splatter. Hence the adults acting like children at times and none more apparent than the scene between Olga and Sara having a childish spat in this classic scene from the perfecto original.

Sunglasses at Night

Dark Glasses (Dario Argento, 2022)

Had the naive hope that whenever a Dario Argento film would make its eventual debut on this blog, then it would have been one of his classics; such as Deep Red (1975), Suspiria (1978) or Tenebrae (1982). However, considering Argento is now in his eighties and hasn't made a film since the thoroughly detested Dracula 3D (2012), his latest film, Dark Glasses would be worth the effort just to check up on him; the sort of thing you would do whenever you're worried about an elderly neighbour.

Kicking off with a solar eclipse darkening the city of Rome, the film's high class escort heroine, Diana (Illenia Pastorelli), experiences some not so subtle forshadowing by being temporary blinded by the celestial phenomenon. After a graphic, quintessentially giallo style kill of another sex worker, the film reverts back to Diana as she flees from a physically abusive client and into a car chase with the said serial killer. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. The chase results in an impressive car crash scene, where the driver of another vehicle is left dead and his wife in a coma. The couple's son, Chin (Xinyu Zhang), sat in the back seat, winds up remarkably unscathed. Diana is left blind by the ordeal. It's from here where the film focuses on the adjustments Diana is forced to make in her life, and the guilt she feels over Chin's tragic predicament. Meanwhile, the killer is still out there and has his eyes on her.

Adapted from a script which was languishing on the back burner for at least twenty years, Argento's film feels surprisingly underdeveloped. Reliant on recycling elements from his past works for some essential substance; the most notable attempt is the rehash of Franco and Lori from The Cat O' Nine Tails (1971). However, that's an already established relationship and here it's the formation of one, and so there's an uncomfortable awkwardness while trying to find common ground. One of which results in an unintentionally comedic scene where a guilt ridden Diana visits an orphanage and gives Chin a bootleg game console to cheer him up. How wrong is that? Another obvious throwback is the dog scene from Suspiria; which lacks any real intensity here and only exists just to up the gore factor by a notch.

Worth pointing out that despite some visual flourishes here and there, harkening back to Argento's glory days, Dark Glasses is a very low budget film. It has the whiff of TV crime drama all over it. The kind that's on a Sunday night, where you're already grabbing your coat and leaving the house. Hardly a bad thing for fresh-faced film makers cutting their teeth, but Argento is a veteran and his old masterpieces have been cinematic in scope. Arguably, budgets got much lesser, hence the transition from film to television for many of Argento's peers. Ultimately, the reason why Italian horror and giallo fizzled out during the nineties and what little has been made since then resembles cheap looking tat like Argento's The Card Player (2003)

Despite its faults, there are genuine positives I like about Dark Glasses: the film has a breezy fast pace to it, which feels refreshing after all the unnecessarily long movies released nowadays; Diana is an unexpectably likeable protagonist; Asia Argento delivers a fine performance for her supporting role as Diana's carer. There's also the fact that the killer's face is revealed relatively early in the film; subverting most people's, including my own, preconceptions of the rules in gialli. Arnaud Rebotini's synthwave soundtrack is most of the time atmospherically effective whenever it doesn't stray into Euro-Techno territory. Also, the typically Argento WTF? setpieces like the water snakes scene is very well executed and one for any Argento highlights reel.

All in all, it's a decent time waster. Objectively, an average film that I would have probably forgotten about already if it wasn't for the fact that Argento has been churning out shite for decades, and this is begrudgingly his best offering since The Stendhal Syndrome (1996). Fellow octogenarian film maker, Paul Verhoeven, gave us the spectacular Benedetta (2021) last year, and Dark Glasses is nowhere near the technical nor artistic level of proficiency. Still, I would rather Argento make a back to basics giallo like this in 2022 than sully his name even further by attaching it to pretentious shite like She Will, or acting in some depressing Gaspar Noé film about Alzheimer's Disease this year.

Dark Glasses (Trailer)

(Dario Argento, 2022)